Fic: but oh, my love (don't forget me) for dc_everafter
Title: but oh, my love (don't forget me)
Author: dontbitethesun
Artist:lenfantsavage
Claim: Rapunzel for dc_everafter
Genre: Fantasy & Romance, with a touch of Mystery
Pairing(s): Dean/Cas
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 10,100
Warnings: descriptions of violence in the original Grimm-style
Summary: Six months ago, Dean went on a hunt - alone - that left him blind after falling from a tower into a briar full of thorns. He knows there's something he has to do, someone important he still has to save, but those weeks prior to his fall are a complete blank he's struggling to remember. Still, he's not just going to sit around once he starts dreaming bits and pieces of his lost memories, so he and Sam start out on a mysterious hunt with more questions than answers.
A/N: Whew! This is officially the longest one-shot I have ever written and the first story long enough to require more than one post. I was thinking I would have trouble hitting the 5000 word minimum, and then it just skyrocketed right past that and kept going.
I'd also like to say thank you to lenfantsavage for working with me and the absolutely gorgeous title art that you will see under the cut. ♥
title art by the lovely and talented lenfantsavage
but oh, my love (don't forget me)Dean's new favorite place in the world is the field behind the cottage he shares with his brother. When he lays back, he can feel the warmth of the sun on his face and the brush of the long grass against his skin as it waves in the wind. He smells the scent of the grass and wildflowers, hears birds chirping and his horse, a great big gorgeous black thoroughbred officially named Impala of the Serengeti, but who he mostly just affectionately refers to as his baby, nickering softly as she grazes nearby.
His favorite place used to be on top of Impala, galloping at top speed - which for her is pretty darn fast - through the forest that surrounds their village, just him, the horse, and the wind, but that pastime had proved unwise after he'd lost his eyesight. He'd tried to go out riding once by himself, but the low-hanging branch that had caught him across the forehead and cut a gash into his brow had quickly put an end to that. Sam had offered to ride along with him to keep him safe, but all he did was jabber on about this tree and that plant, all things that Dean couldn't see and didn't care about even when he could.
Six months ago, he'd fallen from a tower in deep in the forest and been blinded by the bramble of thorns growing below.
He can't remember why. Why he'd been there, why he fell, or why he'd had a handful of black feathers clutched in his hand.
Sam can't tell him what happened either. They don't always go out on jobs together. Three weeks before his fall, Dean had set off by himself into the woods on a hunt he'd thought he could easily handle by himself. Two weeks later, Sam had gotten a letter saying that Dean had easily finished up the first hunt and promptly found another that had turned out to be more complicated than he thought and he could use some help. By the time Sam got there, he'd found Dean unconscious and alone at the base of that godforsaken tower, eyes bloodied from the thorns with a broken wrist, a sizable bump on his noggin, and Impala nosing worriedly at his shoulder. By then all Sam could do was find him a good healer.
Those three weeks are a complete blank in Dean's mind. He's been trying to remember what happened out there when he was alone on that hunt but the memories stay stubbornly buried. The healer - a sweet girl named Jess with an endless amount of patience for her grouchy, wounded charge and a growing soft spot for Dean's little brother - had told him these things take time. A few months or a few weeks, who could say? He should just concentrate on letting his wounded body heal and worry about his missing memories later.
His wrist has mended but his eyesight never did come back and neither did those memories. This would be so much easier to deal with if it was just a curse or a spell, something he could throw all his energy into solving, something that he knew for sure would go away if he or Sam could only find the right passage in the right book, the right troll or witch or warlock to put the hurt on.
Sam had asked around and done his best to investigate. The tower where he had found Dean was completely empty, devoid of all signs of life, and if the villagers in the nearest town - which was, admittedly, a fair distance away - knew anything, then they weren't volunteering it and Sam didn't know the right questions to ask to get them to open up.
So now all that's left for Dean to do is to stay at home and wait.
Dean's never been good at sitting still, much less at waiting. He'd never been one to sit in one place and read a book even when he could. He's always been a man of action. But now, without his sight, his options are limited. He hates to refer to himself as a bumbling idiot, prone to stumbling, but that's kind of the best description for him when he can't see a single thing that's in front of him. He knows his way around the cottage well enough, but in any new situation, he's lost. Sam refuses to take him on any hunts, even if his only job is to gather information. Without hunting, his days don't consist of much. He can pace around their cottage by himself or he can go along with Jess on her own healing jobs and attempt to help her out, although he's man enough to admit that he's more of a hindrance that a help in most cases even if Jess assures him she likes his company. Most of the time he just likes to sit here in the grass and feel the warmth of the sun and listen to the sounds of nature all around him. Occasionally, he'll swing up on Impala's back and ride bareback around the relative safety of the paddock, but more often than not he'll doze off, doing his best to direct his thoughts towards those missing weeks in his memory and force them into clarity.
Today is a day like any other. He keeps his eyes closed - that way he can pretend the eternal darkness in front of them is almost natural - and lets his memories play through his mind as he drifts off to sleep, hoping one that's well-known and clear might spiral its way into one of the hazy, missing ones. He'd take anything, any hint or a clue to point him in the right direction. There's a feeling nagging at him that he can't put a name to and can't shake, telling him there's something more about this hunt, something he has to do, something important that he's missing, if he could only remember…
A crow cackles off in the distance.
When he was fifteen, his father had taken him on a hunt to destroy a flock of harpies. He'd been shocked at the time, disgusted that something so beautiful, a woman and a bird, could combine into something so graceless and ugly. If a man of any kind were to be combined with a bird, it should be beautiful, something that would leave him awestruck, like -
- fingers trail down his neck, the stroke as light as a feather's touch. he gasps and leans into the touch….
…he opens his eyes and meets the gaze of a dark haired man, his eyes as blue as the sky. give me your hand, the man says…
…he finds the tower in the forest, silhouetted against the grey early morning light, barely dwarfed by the surrounding trees, just like she'd said it would be…
… you are definitely not what I expected, dean says, watching broad black wings rise up to block out the light from the rising sun...
… I’m going to get you out of here, he promises…
Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out the feather he keeps there, like a talisman or a good luck charm. He knows now, without a doubt, without being able to see the sheen of sunlight glinting off its surface, that the feather is pitch black, just like the feathers of the crow he can still hear calling. More than that, he knows the feather is as black as the hair of the man it belongs to.
*
"So," Sam says, "let me get this straight. You saw this dark haired man with wings ."
"Big black wings and deep blue eyes," Dean corrects. "I remembered him."
"And that you promised someone you'd rescue them."
"Yep."
"But you don't know who."
"Nope."
"And just with that, you want to go off and try to find either this unknown person - who, knowing you, is probably some pretty damsel in distress who winked at you - and a man with wings."
"Right."
"Dean, I hate to say this, but even if you knew anything else about them - which you don't - can you really say for certain that these were actual memories and not… just some dream?"
Dean lets out an angry sigh. "How about you just take my word about it, how about that?" he demands.
"Dean, I didn't say that I didn't trust you, it's just you've been trying so hard to-"
"I know, okay. I know exactly why you don't want to believe me. But you listen to me for a minute," Dean says, stepping towards the source of Sam's voice. All he wants to do right now is get in his face, make him meet his gaze and hold it, but of course he can't. Dean's not even sure exactly where Sam's standing. One step is all he's risking - taking an extra step and bumping into Sam's chest and reminding him exactly why Dean shouldn't be out in the field right now is not what Dean wants to do. "You keep treating me like I'm a helpless baby squirrel but dammit, Sam, I'm your older brother okay. Stop pussy footing around me and treating me like I'm going to break. I can do this, Sam."
There's a long pause before Sam finally speaks. "A helpless baby squirrel?" he asks, clearly trying to hold back a laugh.
"Yes, dammit. I've been spending a lot of time in that field out back," Dean says, still just as loudly as before, "clearly my vocabulary is not up to par. Are we going to check this out or not?"
"It's not much of a lead," Sam says. Dean's just about to gear up for another argument when Sam adds a reluctant, "but… you're right that hiding out here at home doesn't seem to be doing you much good anymore."
Dean positively beams at him. If he could see the look on his face, he's sure he would deem it idiotic and wipe the grin away immediately, but he hasn't seen his own face for six months, much less anything else.
"We don't have much of a lead to follow," Sam warns. "It might not pan out."
"But we're going to try. That's all I'm asking. Thank you, Sam. Really."
"Whatever. Just don't make me regret this, alright."
*
"I hate my life," Sam says a fortnight later, in the eighth village they’d visited with no results to show for it.
"Shut up," Dean says, "I'm canvassing."
Dean can't see the looks on the villagers' faces, but he can hear from their rather incredulous tone of voice that they think Sam, Dean, and Dean's incessant questions are rather crazy. There really is no good way to go around asking Have you seen a man with giant black wings? Possibly he lives in a tower. It's fairly likely that a pretty, buxom damsel in distress is also involved. Names, no, don't know them. Descriptions? You mean giant black wings and damsel in distress weren't enough to jog your memory? It's probably best that Sam had nixed the WANTED posters Dean had suggested after all.
Dean's not about to give up, despite the lack of new information they're generating.
His memories have been drifting back to him in bits and pieces. Snatches of conversation, not enough to paint a clear picture, but there is one thing that's clear; he'd fallen in love. Or so he thinks. He’s pretty sure, but there are a few things he’s still sketchy about. Such as the guy’s name. What he does remember is the intense feeling of love that had flooded through him when he’d looked into the deep blue eyes of the dark haired man.
“Are you really sure you want me to tell me to shut up?” Sam asks dryly. “Good luck finding your way around without me.”
"You're just grouchy because Jess isn’t here."
“Whatever,” Sam grumbles dismissively in the way of little brothers everywhere.
Dean rolls his eyes and fights the urge to make a rude gesture in his direction. Normally, he wouldn’t care, but in yet another way that this being blind thing truly bites is that he can’t tell if there’s anyone else around who might have actual information he could use that would get offended and refuse to tell him anything.
“Hey, stop for a minute,” Sam says. “There’s a tavern here. I was thinking we could head in, ask a few more questions and stop for a quick bite to eat while we’re at it.”
“Sure,” Dean says and let Sam guide him through the door. The tavern sounds busy, the murmur of indistinct chatter humming around him.
Dean starts surveying patrons at the bar while Sam flags down the bartender to place their order. He’s moved a few patrons when he hears a soft feminine voice say his name from behind him. “Dean? What the hell are you doing here?” Her voice is soft, her accent unremarkable. He couldn’t say for sure one way or another if he’s heard her voice before or not, much less place where he might have met her. And yet, she knows him.
“I -” he starts, but she doesn’t give him a chance to say more.
“Wait,” she says, placing a hand on his wrist and tugging him forward. “We can’t talk here, follow me.”
He manages a few steps after her, but the tavern is crowded without a clear path wherever it is she’s leading him. When Dean bumps a chair and her hand falls away, she keeps moving on without him.
“Wait-” he says, but she doesn’t seem to notice. He’d call her name but of course he doesn’t remember it even she knew him. By the time Sam reaches his side just moments later, she’s lost in the crowd.
“Dude, what are you doing all the way over here?”
“Did you see that girl? The one who talked to me at the bar?”
“A girl? No, sorry, I didn’t see anyone.”
“She knew me,” Dean says.
“And do you…”
“Remember her? No. Damn. She wanted to talk, but she wouldn’t say anything here.”
“And you think it had something to do with your damsel in distress?”
“What else could it have been?”
“Knowing you? Well-”
“Shut up,” Dean grumbles, “you know neither of us have ever been here before.”
“You never know,” Sam muses. “There are a number of ladies out there who have loved and lost you. And it’s not like you could see her face.”
“Whatever,” Dean says, aiming a light punch in Sam’s direction. “At least we know there’s something here to stick around for. I’m sure we’ll be seeing her again.”
“Or not, in your case,” Sam jokes.
“Not funny, bitch,” Dean grumbles, though he’s not really bothered by Sam’s good natured joking.
“It was hilarious, jerk,” Sam retorts. “Now let’s go eat our lunch.”
-
They stay put in the village but it still takes another three days for the girl to find them again. Or, to be more precise, they find her.
Dean’s pertinence only lasts for a couple days. He’s been remembering a little bit more - a fragment here and a piece there - but the more that comes back to him, the more he feels a sense of urgency. When the third day dawns and there still hasn’t been any sign of the girl who approached him in the tavern their first day there - or anyone else willing or able to give them information either - Dean persuades Sam that’s it’s time to do a little investigating in the surrounding area.
“So what exactly are we looking for here?” Sam asks while they’re saddling their horses.
“I don’t know,” Dean responds. “I guess you’ll just know it when you see it.”
“That’s not very helpful,” Sam says. “Are you sure there’s nothing specific the girl who knew you mentioned?”
“Pretty sure I’d have told you already if you had.”
“No, right. Of course not. That would make my life just too easy. Because a) you stumbled onto something accidently or b) ran into someone who tipped you off. Either way you wouldn’t remember it - even if you could see it.”
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Dean asks. “Didn’t get enough beauty sleep this morning, princess?”
Sam sighs. “You know how you feel about witches and warlocks and magic of any kind? Yeah, that’s how I feel about hunts where we’re wandering around in the woods and the only clue we have to go on is to look for something suspicious.”
Dean gives Sam a pat on the shoulder as he walks by, leading Impala by the reins. “Lighten up, dude. You’d think this was your first hunt or something.”
Sam follows Dean out of the stable, his own horse in tow. “No, but it might as well be yours. I’m just not sure you’re prepared for this.”
“Aww,” Dean says, swinging up into his saddle. “Is that what’s got you in such a mood? You’re worried about me? That’s so sweet.”
“Mock me all you want, but look, I know you think it’s been your job to take care of me since dad died and I’ve let you, but now it’s my job to look out for you since you can’t do it for yourself anymore. I’m just not sure you know what you’re getting your self into here. When I found you before-”
“Yeah, yeah, I was bruised, bloody, and broken, and of course we can’t forget blinded by the thorns.”
“And you still can’t remember why, or much at all, really.” Dean wisely doesn’t point out that this is a great deal more that he remembers but hasn’t shared because it’s not pertinent to the case. Sure, it’s nice to have the memory of the man with the intense blue eyes and the way his mouth fit perfectly against Dean’s, the smile he’d given Dean the first time he’d tangled their fingers together, the little sigh he’d make when Dean would press kisses in a line down his chest, but it’s not to get them anywhere closer to actually finding him.
“I’d just feel a little more comfortable about the whole thing if we knew what we were up against but no one can seem to give us any more information,” Sam continues.
Impala shifts restlessly, ready to get going. Dean gives her a pat on the neck. He can tell from the direction Sam’s voice is coming from that his brother is still standing next to his own mount, both feet on the ground.
“I can’t tell you that what we’re doing isn’t dangerous,” Dean says, “any more or less than any other hunt we’ve ever been on. And it certainly doesn’t help that we have less than nothing to go on. But I have to know. I can’t shake this feeling that there’s someone I have to find, something important that I have to do even if I don’t know exactly what it is. So you can either help me out or you can go home. Either way, I’m staying here, even if I have blunder about on my own.”
Sam huffs out a laugh. “That’s what I figured you’d say.”
Dean shakes his head and grins. “If you knew already, then why’d you have to bring it up?”
“You know me,” Sam answers, finally swinging up into his own saddle, “always gotta do things the hard way.”
“And talk things to death,” Dean adds, wheeling Impala to follow behind the sound of Sam’s hoof beats on the road out of town and into the surrounding wilderness. “Let’s go,” he calls to his brother, nudging Impala into a light gallop, trusting her to follow the well-worn paths and animal trails through the woods until they, hopefully, find something that leads them one step closer to Dean’s mystery man.
-
After hours of fruitless searching, they get lucky just as Dean’s grumbling stomach signals that they’d best stop for lunch. None of the village folk had noticed anything strange occurring, but a resident fur trapper, more attuned to the nuances of the forest had been able to point them in the right direction of something unusual happening nearby.
“It’s the strangest thing,” he’d said, “but I ain’t seen hide nor hair of anything livin, nor a peep out of a single bird for goin’ on half a year now out past the old mill where the river curves towards the mountains. Don’t get many folk out there in the first place - too dangerous, it is - abandoned building and all - but I haven’t had any reason to go there meself.”
When they reach the old, abandoned mill, it’s just as eerily quiet as the trapper had said it would be. Dean can hear the gentle murmur of the river and the soft ruffling of leaves in the breeze, but there’s no birdsongs or the chattering of small animals to be heard.
“I guess this is the place,” Dean says.
“Yeah,” Sam answers. “I guess we’d better check it out.”
They ride aimlessly for half an hour, circling the area - Sam keeping his eyes peeled and Dean listening for any suspicious sounds.
“Huh,” Sam says, eventually, the sound of his horse’s hoof beats stopping.
“What is it?” Dean asks, pulling Impala up short and pausing behind him.
“These people really do like their towers in the middle of nowhere.”
Dean grins. “Told you you’d know it when you saw it.”
They dismounted to investigate. “You see any stairs or anything?” Dean asks.
“No,” Sam says. “No doors either. Just a few windows up at the very top.”
“I’d definitely say we’re in the right place then.”
“Yeah, I think-” Sam begins, but he’s interrupted by a voice hissing out Dean’s name. It sounds like the girl who had taken Dean aside at the tavern a few days earlier.
“What are you idiots doing,” she demands in a low whisper, grabbing hold of Dean’s arm. “Get under cover or she’ll see you and the last thing I want to do is track him down again after you botch things up again.”
She tugs on Dean’s arm, dragging him to his left. He feels the brush of tiny branches against his arms and legs and leaves drag over his hair and face.
“Um, who are you?” Sam asks, his voice inches away from Dean’s ear. The girl must have grabbed hold of him as well. He nudges Dean and says, “I think we found your redhead.”
She ignores Sam and says instead, “Dean! I told you before, you shouldn’t be here. If you hadn’t - what’s wrong with your eyes?”
“I’m blind? Aren’t you the girl from the tavern? I thought you could tell then.”
“No - I… It was dark. I didn’t see. What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Dean says.
“What do you mean?” the girl asks.
“He means that he fell and hit his head. He can’t remember anything that happened with the last tower,” Sam answers.
“So you don’t remember me? That means you don’t remember Castiel either,” she muses distractedly.
Castiel? Dean thinks, rolling the name around on his tongue. It seems familiar, in a vague, inexplicable sense, like a word that’s right on the tip of his tongue but he just can’t remember. It should be - well, he’s not sure what it should be and it’s not enough to jog his memory any further, he just has a distant sense it’s something that he used to know.
“Why don’t we start with your name and we’ll go from there,” Sam prompts.
“Huh?” the girls says, still distracted. “Oh, I’m Anna. I was the one who told you about my brother Castiel. He’s an angel, being held captive by a sorceress.”
“I thought there were no such things as angels,” Sam interjects.
Anna quirks a small smile. “Dean said the same thing.”
“That does explain the wings,” Dean says.
“I thought you said you didn’t remember,” Anna says.
“Bits and pieces,” Dean answers. “Are you sure it was Castiel I found?”
“Of course,” Anna answers.
“It’s just, his name. It just seems off,” Dean says, scratching his head. “Maybe I’m just remembering it wrong.”
“You weren’t around when I found Dean,” Sam mentions. “Were you supposed to meet him there?”
“No,” Anna answers. “We didn’t have much contact-”
There’s a loud noise, something like a crash followed by an unnaturally low growl, and Anna abruptly stops speaking.
“Oh, shit,” she says, “I have to go.”
“Wait,” Sam calls. “There’s still so much more we need to know.”
“I’ll, uh, I’ll see if I can come by your inn later,” she calls back over her shoulder. “I really need to go.”
“What just happened?” Dean asks.
“She just ran off,” Sam answers.
“Because of the noise?”
“Yeah, pretty sure.”
“What was that?”
“Couldn’t tell.”
“Did anything else happen?”
“Nope.”
“Huh,” Dean answers. “So what do we do now?”
“I guess we can have a quick look around, then head back to the inn so we don’t miss her.”
They don’t find much. There’s no way up, just like Sam described from the previous tower, but there’s no other clues around, nothing that they can work with.
“What do you think, head back and have dinner, see if Anna shows up?” Sam asks.
“Sure thing,” Dean answers.
As they swing up into saddles and ride back towards the village, neither of them notice the shadowy figure watching from a window high up in the tower as they disappear into the trees.
-
Sam volunteers to unsaddle and brush down their horses so that Dean can wait in their room in case Anna shows up. Dean hasn’t even been in the room ten minutes before there’s a knock on the door.
“Dean,” a feminine voice says when Dean answers. He can tell immediately that she’s not Anna as her voice is deeper, her accent different.
“Can I help you?” Dean asks.
“My name is Meg,” the woman answers. “Anna couldn’t make it tonight, so she sent me instead.”
“Oh, um. Okay. I guess you’d better come in, then,” Dean says, holding the door open for her.
“Thank you,” Meg answers. Dean can feel the silky brush of her dress as she enters the room. “May I sit?” she asks.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Dean answers. “So how do you know Anna?”
There’s a pause before Meg answers. “We’re old friends,” she eventually answers. “We ran into each other in town today, and she told me she had an engagement today that she simply couldn’t keep and asked me to come instead. I believe you had some questions you needed answered due to a pesky little memory loss problem.”
“Yeah,” Dean says.
“And I see that someone has damaged your lovely eyes.” Dean hears the swish of Meg’s skirts as she stands and approaches him. “Do you mind if I take a look?”
“Um, sure,” Dean says as Meg brings her hand up to rest her fingertips on his chin and tip his head to the side so she can get a better look at his face. Dean’s not at all used to this and he isn’t sure what to say.
“That is some extensive scarring,” she remarks. “What a shame that such a gruesome thing happened to your beautiful green eyes.”
“Um, what? Did you meet-” Dean starts to ask, but Meg cuts him off, her grip on his chin tightening so that her nails dig deep into his skin.
“Do I know who you are? Oh, yes, Dean, I know you. You’re the one who tried to steal my precious pet right out from under my nose. But that’s not going to happen again. I stopped you once, and I’m going to do it again.”
Dean tries to back away, but he can’t more. Not only is Meg’s grip preternatural strong, but Dean’s muscles feel frozen and stiff and they won’t respond to his commands. He figures she must be using some sort of magic on him. Fucking witches.
“Get the hell away from him,” Sam snaps and Dean breathes a sigh of relief as Meg is shoved forcibly away from him. Her nails gouge scratches into his chin, but he’s just glad he’s not going to end up dead.
As the magic holding him up relaxes, Dean sags backwards, striking his head against the edge of a table as he falls that his ears ring.
“This isn’t over,” Meg hisses.
“Dean, Dean. Are you okay?” Sam asks, close to Dean’s ear. Dean’s head feels strangely clear after such a hard impact. Sam helps him up to his feet, where Dean brings a shaky hand up to his forehead.
“What happened?” Dean asks as Sam leads him over to sit on the foot of the bed.
“She’s gone, don’t worry. Does your head hurt? Do you think you have a concussion?”
“No, I…” Dean abruptly drops his hand. “I remember.”
“You - what?”
“Those missing weeks, right before I fell. Sam, I remember them. I remember him.”
-
…He meets the girl after he wraps up his hunt, just before he’s about to head back home. She's pretty, with long red hair and wide blue eyes. He gives her his best smile on her, trying to charm her, but she's all business.
"You're a hunter, aren't you?" she asks.
“I am. And who might you be?” Dean asks.
“My name is Anna. I need the assistance of a hunter.”
“Are you by chance a damsel in distress?”
“I can take care of myself,” she answers. “It's my brother who needs your help.”
-
He doesn’t believe her, not at first. “Angels?” he repeats dubiously. As far as he knows - or any other hunter he’s ever met - angels don’t exist. And she’s not exactly willing to offer up the evidence that they do.
“You’ll just have to take my word for now,” she says. “When you see my brother, there won’t be a single doubt in your mind what he is.”
“Sure,” Dean says, though he’s anything but. “So, if you’re an angel, why can’t you just… I don’t know, swoop in and rescue him yourself or something.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“No?”
“You’re going to have to gain his trust. And he can’t know that I’ve sent you. He’s forbidden me from trying to help him more than once. If he knew I’d sent you, he’d never listen.”
“And I’m supposed to say what, exactly? He’s gonna want to know why I’m there, and from what you’ve told me so far a casual stroll just isn’t going to cut it.”
She gives him a coy look. “You strike me as quite the charmer. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
-
He finds the tower in the forest, silhouetted against grey early morning light, barely dwarfed by the surrounding trees, just like she'd said it would be. He can see a single un-paned window far up at the top. One thing Anna hadn’t mentioned was the best way to get up, or any way rather. It is not like he can just walk right on up. For one thing, there's no door and certainly no stairs. He’ll have to climb, but the façade seems to be make of loose stone that crumbles under his fingers when he touches it.
“Figures,” he mumbles under his breath, what with the angel nonsense and all. Anna’d probably just sprout wings and fly right up… or she would if he actually believed the angel thing, which he absolutely does not.
He solves the problem by jabbing arrows into the firmer brick beneath the façade and climbs up that way.
When he is nearly at the top, a few mere feet from the window, Dean falters and slices his hand on a jagged rock. “Fuck,” he swears. His hand, slick with blood, slips against the stone and he can’t find purchase. He shuts his eyes tight so that he doesn’t look down. He’s never been good with heights. Below him, he knows, is a bramble of briars with dangerously sharp thorns.
“Here, let me help you,” says a deep, rusty voice from above him.
He opens his eyes and meets the gaze of a dark haired man, his eyes as blue as the sky. “Give me your hand,” the man says.
Dean doesn’t answer, just does as he’s asked. The other man hauls him up and over the lip of the window, where Dean falls to his knees.
“Whoa,” he says, breathing heavily. “That was a close one.”
“It’s a dangerous climb,” the man says. He’s still standing mere inches away from where Dean is hunched, where all Dean can see of him are the toes of his boots. “That is why most people don’t attempt it.”
“And yet, here you are.” Dean gets to his feet, brushes the dirt from his knees and gets his first good look at the man. “You are definitely not what I expected,” Dean says, watching broad black wings rise up to block out the light from the rising sun. “What are you anyway?”
“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen quite a few unbelievable things in my time.”
The man gives him an illusive smile and doesn’t speak.
Dean sighs. “Okay, I get it. How about your name. Can you tell me that?”
“It’s Castiel.”
“Castiel? That sounds so stuffy. You got a nickname?”
The man - Castiel - shakes his head.
“Then I’m going to call you Cas, if you don’t mind.” He reaches out a hand. “I’m Dean.” Cas uncertainly presses his own palm, soft and warm, against Dean’s and shakes it once, brusquely.
“So,” Dean prompts, “what are you doing up here anyway?”
“I could ask the same of you,” Cas says, wryly.
“I asked first,” Dean says.
“It’s my tower,” Cas counters.
“I… uh, heard there was a treasure here?” Dean supposes he would sound more convincing if his explanation sounded more like a statement and less like a question. Cas’ expression doesn’t change, so he figures he’s in the clear. “You don’t exactly make it easy to get up here, so I figured it might be pretty valuable.”
“There’s no treasure.”
“Then why are you up here if you aren’t guarding something? You just like hiding out in dark, unreachable towers?
“You never stopped to consider that some people might just like their privacy?”
Dean glances around. The tower is fairly unpleasant, dark and cramped, though surprisingly clean. “And is that why you’re up here? Because it doesn’t seem like a great place to spend all your time to me. I think you should get out some and see the sun.”
He’s silent for a long moment. Dean thinks he might give the same answer as his sister and say only that it’s complicated, but instead he answers, somewhat wistfully, with his eyes on the sky outside the window, “It would be nice to see more of the world.”
“Why don’t you, then. I could help you out if you wanted. Show you around.”
Cas shakes his head, looking away from the window. “I couldn’t.”
Dean nods his head. “I get it. You’ve been here so long, you don’t want to leave. Tell you what, why don’t I come by every day until you feel comfortable enough to leave.”
Cas studies him for a long moment, his clear blue eyes staring intently into Dean’s own, expression inscrutable. Dean stares back just as intently, keeping his own expression clear and honest.
“Alright,” Cas says finally, giving Dean a decisive nod. “You may come tomorrow and then we’ll see.”
“Great.” Dean grins. “You won’t regret it.”
-
Dean keeps coming back. Each day, it’s less and less about Anna with her pretty smile and lovely face and the request she’d made of him and more and more about Cas and how much Dean wants to see him and learn as much as he can about him. Everything about him fascinates Dean - from the ordinary, like the deep, deep voice, to his extraordinary wings.
He seems equally enchanted with Dean, letting him come back day after day.
On the second day, rather than struggle climbing up and then scaling back down again using arrows as handholds, he brings a rope that Cas lets down every morning when Dean arrives and coils back up again every night after he leaves.
That same morning on the second day that he shows up, his hand bandaged but still sore from the wound it had received when he’d been climbing up the day before, Cas notices that the hand is bothering Dean.
“Let me see your hand,” he asks, holding out his own. He carefully unwraps the bandage and, with a pass of his palm over Dean’s own, the wound is gone.
“How did you-” Dean begins, but given how cagy Cas had been the previous day to say anything about what he was or what he was doing there, he cuts the question off, knowing Cas won’t answer it. “Neat trick,” he says instead.
Every day, before he leaves, Dean asks Cas if he’s ready to leave his dark and depressing little tower, but every day Cas turns him down.
“You may come back tomorrow and try to convince me,” he always adds and Dean always does, until a week and a half later when their routine changes.
Instead of telling Dean to come back tomorrow, Cas tells him to come back the following day.
“Why not tomorrow?” Dean asks.
Cas, expression as inscrutable as ever when Dean asks a questions he won’t answer, simply says, “Don’t show up tomorrow. I won’t let down the rope if you do.”
Dean comes anyway, although he doesn’t call up to Cas to let him know that he’s there. Instead, he hides in one of the thorny briar patches that grows all around the tower and waits.
He doesn’t have to wait long. Less than a hour after he arrives, a dark-haired woman in an elaborately trimmed silk dress rides up on the back of a huge black dog - bigger than any horse - with two heads. A hellhound, Dean thinks. He’s heard of them before. The woman must be in control of an enormous amount of magical energy for the thing to let her anywhere near it, much less ride it. The dark magic of a powerful sorceress. Dean gets a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that Cas would have anything to do with dark magic.
She stops in front of the tower and Dean catches of glimpse of a brilliantly glowing pendant around her neck that swings in the air as she dismounts. Once both her feet are on the ground, she turns back to the beast she rode in on and gives it a brief kiss on each of it’s drooling, vicious heads before making the creature disappear with a snap of her fingers. With the hellhound safely sent away, she turns back to the tower and chants a spell, the words of which Dean can barely catch but doesn’t understand. The air shimmers around her, and she lifts her foot and beings to climb as one would a staircase. Dean gapes. She is climbing stairs - just ones made of pure air.
The sorceress reaches the uppermost window - the same one Dean has been climbing his way through for the past week and the half - and ducks in herself. The forest is eerily quiet while she is there, not a single chirp from a bird or the sounds of any other small animals. Dean has no idea what she’s doing, other than it can’t be good.
She’s there for nearly two hours. When she appears again, walking back down the stairs made of air that would have given Dean vertigo to use, she’s carrying a flask filled with an unnaturally bright red liquid. When she reaches the base of the tower, she tucks the flask into her skirts and casts another spell to dismiss the stairs and then to summon the hellhound.
Dean stays hidden, long after she’s gone and the normal sounds of the forest resume, trying to process what this means. Anna had intimated that there was some kind rescue Cas needed, but hadn’t said what. Dean hopes it’s this, but he’s never seen any indication that Cas is being physically restrained. But then again, with a sorceress powerful enough to harness a hellhound, she’d probably use magic that Dean couldn’t see and couldn’t sense.
Eventually, Dean untangles himself from the briar and makes his way to the base of the tower. “Cas!” he shouts upward, “CASTIEL, I know you’re up there. Let down the rope or I’ll find my own way up again. We have to talk.”
There’s a long pause where Dean wonders if he have to yell some more because he’s sure as hell not going away but then the rope falls and Dean quickly scales it.
“I take it you saw Meg,” Cas says once Dean’s ducked safely inside the window.
“That sorceress with the hellhound? Yeah, I saw her. Cas, what the hell are you doing with a sorceress?”
“It’s complicated.”
“So explain it to me.” When Cas doesn’t say anything, Dean sighs and says, “Look, I didn’t just stumble upon your tower and climb it looking for treasure. I’m not that kind of hunter.”
Dean figures Cas will angry that he’d shown up under false pretenses and lied to him. What he doesn’t expect is the calm nod he gets and for Cas to say. “Anna sent you.”
“Wait, you knew? And you’re not mad?”
Cas shrugs and answers simply, “I enjoyed your company.”
“I - uh. I did too. Yours, I mean.” Dean shakes his head. “Anyway the point I was trying to make is: this isn’t the first time I’ve gone up against a sorceress. I can help you.”
“I do appreciate your concern, but you don’t understand.”
“So explain it to me,” Dean say, perhaps a bit too loudly, getting frustrated with Cas’ calm attitude about the whole thing. “Or do is she keeping you here against your will?”
Cas’ expression finally turns stormy and he takes a menacing step forward, his wings flaring out behind him to their full length and taking up what little space is available in the tower. Dean meets his gaze and doesn’t back down, grimly pleased to finally get a rise out of the unflappable angel.
“Of course I’m not,” Cas says, almost in a growl, his voice deeper than ever. His wings twitch angrily behind him. “I’m an angel and she has my grace. Without it, I am at her bidding.”
“Your grace?” Dean asks.
“It’s like my soul. She wears it on a glowing pendant around her neck. She uses it to make her spells and potions more potent.”
“If she has your grace, why does she keep you here?”
“My grace is a part of me. She ripped it from me and I can exist without it, but were she to kill me, my grace would be destroyed as well.”
“And she comes here, what, to gloat about it?”
“No, my grace is more potent the closer it is to me. She needs to be in close proximity in order to access it for her most powerful spells.”
Dean places a hand on Cas’ shoulder. Cas tenses under his touch. “I’m sorry I accused you of being on her side. I know you’d never do that.”
“I - thank you, Dean,” Cas answers, his wings visibly drooping. As he relaxes and leans into Dean’s touch, the mood between then changes drastically. The atmosphere is still crackling with the tension between them, but now it’s tension of an entirely different kind.
Dean is man enough to admit that he found Cas attractive from the moment they met, but as the days have passed and he’s gotten to know him, it’s developed into something more than just attraction. He thinks he’s started to fall in love with him. From the way that Cas intently meeting his gaze and the fact he’s not backing away now, still standing mere inches away from Dean in a position that had started out as hostile but isn’t anymore, Dean’s willing to bet that Cas might just feel the same way. It makes him brave enough to move his hand from Cas’ shoulder to rest it on his cheek.
“Is this okay?” he asks, leaning in.
“Yes,” Cas replies, voice deeper than ever, almost the way it had sounded when he was angry but this time with an entirely different tone, and leans in to meet the kiss halfway.
There’s still more than Dean wants to say, to convince Cas he can help, but they don’t get much talking done that night.
-
Dean wakes the following morning as fingers trail down his neck, the stroke as light as a feather's touch. He gasps and leans into the touch, smiles as he rolls over to face Cas. “Mmm…” he says. “What a great way to wake up in the morning.”
Cas gives him a smile, small but tender, and answers, “Yes.”
Dean leans up to kiss Cas breathless, running his hands through Cas’ already extremely disheveled hair. When Cas is suitably mellow, but before the kiss can devolve into a repeat of the night before, Dean breaks away. Cas, it seems, has other plans, following Dean’s mouth with his own until Dean has to bring a hand up to his chest to physically hold him back.
“I wanted to talk to you before we get all distracted again,” Dean says.
Cas frowns. “Should I be worried?” he asks, looking slightly nervous despite his joking tone.
Dean grins up at him. “No, no. You should definitely not be worried. Lat night was just - wow. It is going to happen again, as soon as possible. This is just a little more important at the moment.”
“Good,” Cas says, “I want that too. Now, hurry up and get to your point so we can move on to the part of this conversation that is mutually enjoyable.” He punctuates his words with a long stroke of his hand along the outside of Dean’s thigh. Dean shivers but pushes Cas’ hand away.
“Look, I told you last night that I’m a hunter, right? And I’ve dealt with my fair share of witches and sorcerers.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Cas says, suddenly serious, “but Meg isn’t in the same class as your average witch. She’s much too powerful for you to face by yourself.”
“That’s just it,” Dean answers. “My whole family have always been hunters. My brother and I usually go on hunts together. With his help, Meg would be no match for us.”
“I doubt you could vanquish her, even with your brother’s help,” Cas answers.
“But we wouldn’t have to. All we need to do is get you your grace back and we’re home free.”
“We’d have to catch her off guard,” Cas muses. “With no hellhounds at her disposal. That would be the only way you’d have a chance, but it’s still very risky.”
“Hey,” Dean says, drawing Cas’ mouth down for a quick kiss. “If there’s any chance at all, I’m gonna take it, no matter what you say. Being trapped up here, it’s no life. You should be able to do what you want, and if that happens to be with me, great, but if not, you still deserve to be set free.”
Cas smiles at him. “I’d like to be wherever you are,” he says, which Dean thinks is the closest to a declaration of love and their intentions that they’re ever going to get.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll write to Sam tomorrow and he should be here in a week or two. I’m going to get you out of here,” he promises…
-
“Then I wrote to you, and we waited,” Dean explains to Sam, scrubbing a hand over his sightless eyes, back in the present. “Or at least, we tried to wait for you. Meg had sent word to Cas that she would be showing up in two days and Cas warned me about it. We weren’t going to do anything that day, since you weren’t there yet, but somehow, Meg must have found out about our plans because she showed up a day early. My memory of that day is still pretty hazy, probably from that bump on the head, but I know there was a struggle, and Meg shoved me out of the window where I must have fallen into the thorns growing around the tower. The next thing I remember, I was with you and Jess.”
“Well, one things for sure, Meg must have been threatened enough by you to move Cas to another location.”
“Yeah, but she’s not taken any chances. The unnatural silence in the woods today - that’s the same thing that happened when she rode up on the hellhound. The woods must be crawling with them now, trying to keep anyone from finding her precious angel.”
“You think that’s what scared Anna off?” Sam asks.
“Possibly. We’re lucky we didn’t run into one ourselves.”
“Maybe. Something tipped Meg off that we were there today, or she wouldn’t have shown up here tonight.”
“Do you think she went right back to the tower?” Dean asks, think of Cas.
“Dean, no. Just no. You are running off to find this guy, not tonight when we’re completely unprepared. You’re plan before was to catch her off-guard, but that obviously failed.”
Dean nods. Rationally, he understands what Sam is saying. Of course it’s completely unreasonable to go running off towards the bad guy with no plan whatsoever, but his heart aches to find Cas again. He’d been just a shadowy figure in his memories for so long, but now, with his memories restored, the need to find him, to make sure he’s alright has turned from a dull sense to an urgent, gut wrenching need.
As Dean is thinking of the best way to articulate this, there’s a knock on the door. Dean tenses, knows that Sam has instinctively gone for the knife in his boot. Dean carried one in his own boot, but without his sight, there’s much less he can do with it and he lets Sam take the lead. However, when he hears Anna call through the door, “Dean? It’s Anna. I just saw Meg. Are you alright?”
Sam lets her in and explains what happened, that Meg attacked Dean but Sam saved him at the last minute, and that a resulting bump on the head had given Dean most of his memories back. Anna listens quietly, asking an occasional question. Once Sam is done, she sighs and says, “This could be the perfect timing to go after her.”
Dean immediately perks up since getting rid of Meg means finding Cas. Sam, of course, is much more hesitant. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea? She almost killed Dean today.”
“Exactly. That’s why she won’t be expecting us tonight.”
“She might not be expecting us, but she’s still extremely well protected with those hellhounds she’s got crawling all over the forest.”
“That’s the second reason the timing is so good,” Anna explains and Dean hears the sound of a long dagger being pulled from its sheath. “I couldn’t make it here any earlier today because I was in the process of obtaining this. When the blade was made, the iron was tempered with a poison that’s lethal to hellhounds. It won’t be easy, but this is the only way we can kill them.”
“Great,” Dean says, standing up, “then let’s go.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sam asks, still next to Dean’s side.
“Fine,” Dean answers. He lowers his voice and adds. “Sam. I have to find him. As soon as possible.”
Sam finally sighs and agrees. “Alright. Just try to be careful, okay?”
PART 2
Author: dontbitethesun
Artist:lenfantsavage
Claim: Rapunzel for dc_everafter
Genre: Fantasy & Romance, with a touch of Mystery
Pairing(s): Dean/Cas
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 10,100
Warnings: descriptions of violence in the original Grimm-style
Summary: Six months ago, Dean went on a hunt - alone - that left him blind after falling from a tower into a briar full of thorns. He knows there's something he has to do, someone important he still has to save, but those weeks prior to his fall are a complete blank he's struggling to remember. Still, he's not just going to sit around once he starts dreaming bits and pieces of his lost memories, so he and Sam start out on a mysterious hunt with more questions than answers.
A/N: Whew! This is officially the longest one-shot I have ever written and the first story long enough to require more than one post. I was thinking I would have trouble hitting the 5000 word minimum, and then it just skyrocketed right past that and kept going.
I'd also like to say thank you to lenfantsavage for working with me and the absolutely gorgeous title art that you will see under the cut. ♥
title art by the lovely and talented lenfantsavage
but oh, my love (don't forget me)Dean's new favorite place in the world is the field behind the cottage he shares with his brother. When he lays back, he can feel the warmth of the sun on his face and the brush of the long grass against his skin as it waves in the wind. He smells the scent of the grass and wildflowers, hears birds chirping and his horse, a great big gorgeous black thoroughbred officially named Impala of the Serengeti, but who he mostly just affectionately refers to as his baby, nickering softly as she grazes nearby.
His favorite place used to be on top of Impala, galloping at top speed - which for her is pretty darn fast - through the forest that surrounds their village, just him, the horse, and the wind, but that pastime had proved unwise after he'd lost his eyesight. He'd tried to go out riding once by himself, but the low-hanging branch that had caught him across the forehead and cut a gash into his brow had quickly put an end to that. Sam had offered to ride along with him to keep him safe, but all he did was jabber on about this tree and that plant, all things that Dean couldn't see and didn't care about even when he could.
Six months ago, he'd fallen from a tower in deep in the forest and been blinded by the bramble of thorns growing below.
He can't remember why. Why he'd been there, why he fell, or why he'd had a handful of black feathers clutched in his hand.
Sam can't tell him what happened either. They don't always go out on jobs together. Three weeks before his fall, Dean had set off by himself into the woods on a hunt he'd thought he could easily handle by himself. Two weeks later, Sam had gotten a letter saying that Dean had easily finished up the first hunt and promptly found another that had turned out to be more complicated than he thought and he could use some help. By the time Sam got there, he'd found Dean unconscious and alone at the base of that godforsaken tower, eyes bloodied from the thorns with a broken wrist, a sizable bump on his noggin, and Impala nosing worriedly at his shoulder. By then all Sam could do was find him a good healer.
Those three weeks are a complete blank in Dean's mind. He's been trying to remember what happened out there when he was alone on that hunt but the memories stay stubbornly buried. The healer - a sweet girl named Jess with an endless amount of patience for her grouchy, wounded charge and a growing soft spot for Dean's little brother - had told him these things take time. A few months or a few weeks, who could say? He should just concentrate on letting his wounded body heal and worry about his missing memories later.
His wrist has mended but his eyesight never did come back and neither did those memories. This would be so much easier to deal with if it was just a curse or a spell, something he could throw all his energy into solving, something that he knew for sure would go away if he or Sam could only find the right passage in the right book, the right troll or witch or warlock to put the hurt on.
Sam had asked around and done his best to investigate. The tower where he had found Dean was completely empty, devoid of all signs of life, and if the villagers in the nearest town - which was, admittedly, a fair distance away - knew anything, then they weren't volunteering it and Sam didn't know the right questions to ask to get them to open up.
So now all that's left for Dean to do is to stay at home and wait.
Dean's never been good at sitting still, much less at waiting. He'd never been one to sit in one place and read a book even when he could. He's always been a man of action. But now, without his sight, his options are limited. He hates to refer to himself as a bumbling idiot, prone to stumbling, but that's kind of the best description for him when he can't see a single thing that's in front of him. He knows his way around the cottage well enough, but in any new situation, he's lost. Sam refuses to take him on any hunts, even if his only job is to gather information. Without hunting, his days don't consist of much. He can pace around their cottage by himself or he can go along with Jess on her own healing jobs and attempt to help her out, although he's man enough to admit that he's more of a hindrance that a help in most cases even if Jess assures him she likes his company. Most of the time he just likes to sit here in the grass and feel the warmth of the sun and listen to the sounds of nature all around him. Occasionally, he'll swing up on Impala's back and ride bareback around the relative safety of the paddock, but more often than not he'll doze off, doing his best to direct his thoughts towards those missing weeks in his memory and force them into clarity.
Today is a day like any other. He keeps his eyes closed - that way he can pretend the eternal darkness in front of them is almost natural - and lets his memories play through his mind as he drifts off to sleep, hoping one that's well-known and clear might spiral its way into one of the hazy, missing ones. He'd take anything, any hint or a clue to point him in the right direction. There's a feeling nagging at him that he can't put a name to and can't shake, telling him there's something more about this hunt, something he has to do, something important that he's missing, if he could only remember…
A crow cackles off in the distance.
When he was fifteen, his father had taken him on a hunt to destroy a flock of harpies. He'd been shocked at the time, disgusted that something so beautiful, a woman and a bird, could combine into something so graceless and ugly. If a man of any kind were to be combined with a bird, it should be beautiful, something that would leave him awestruck, like -
- fingers trail down his neck, the stroke as light as a feather's touch. he gasps and leans into the touch….
…he opens his eyes and meets the gaze of a dark haired man, his eyes as blue as the sky. give me your hand, the man says…
…he finds the tower in the forest, silhouetted against the grey early morning light, barely dwarfed by the surrounding trees, just like she'd said it would be…
… you are definitely not what I expected, dean says, watching broad black wings rise up to block out the light from the rising sun...
… I’m going to get you out of here, he promises…
Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out the feather he keeps there, like a talisman or a good luck charm. He knows now, without a doubt, without being able to see the sheen of sunlight glinting off its surface, that the feather is pitch black, just like the feathers of the crow he can still hear calling. More than that, he knows the feather is as black as the hair of the man it belongs to.
*
"So," Sam says, "let me get this straight. You saw this dark haired man with wings ."
"Big black wings and deep blue eyes," Dean corrects. "I remembered him."
"And that you promised someone you'd rescue them."
"Yep."
"But you don't know who."
"Nope."
"And just with that, you want to go off and try to find either this unknown person - who, knowing you, is probably some pretty damsel in distress who winked at you - and a man with wings."
"Right."
"Dean, I hate to say this, but even if you knew anything else about them - which you don't - can you really say for certain that these were actual memories and not… just some dream?"
Dean lets out an angry sigh. "How about you just take my word about it, how about that?" he demands.
"Dean, I didn't say that I didn't trust you, it's just you've been trying so hard to-"
"I know, okay. I know exactly why you don't want to believe me. But you listen to me for a minute," Dean says, stepping towards the source of Sam's voice. All he wants to do right now is get in his face, make him meet his gaze and hold it, but of course he can't. Dean's not even sure exactly where Sam's standing. One step is all he's risking - taking an extra step and bumping into Sam's chest and reminding him exactly why Dean shouldn't be out in the field right now is not what Dean wants to do. "You keep treating me like I'm a helpless baby squirrel but dammit, Sam, I'm your older brother okay. Stop pussy footing around me and treating me like I'm going to break. I can do this, Sam."
There's a long pause before Sam finally speaks. "A helpless baby squirrel?" he asks, clearly trying to hold back a laugh.
"Yes, dammit. I've been spending a lot of time in that field out back," Dean says, still just as loudly as before, "clearly my vocabulary is not up to par. Are we going to check this out or not?"
"It's not much of a lead," Sam says. Dean's just about to gear up for another argument when Sam adds a reluctant, "but… you're right that hiding out here at home doesn't seem to be doing you much good anymore."
Dean positively beams at him. If he could see the look on his face, he's sure he would deem it idiotic and wipe the grin away immediately, but he hasn't seen his own face for six months, much less anything else.
"We don't have much of a lead to follow," Sam warns. "It might not pan out."
"But we're going to try. That's all I'm asking. Thank you, Sam. Really."
"Whatever. Just don't make me regret this, alright."
*
"I hate my life," Sam says a fortnight later, in the eighth village they’d visited with no results to show for it.
"Shut up," Dean says, "I'm canvassing."
Dean can't see the looks on the villagers' faces, but he can hear from their rather incredulous tone of voice that they think Sam, Dean, and Dean's incessant questions are rather crazy. There really is no good way to go around asking Have you seen a man with giant black wings? Possibly he lives in a tower. It's fairly likely that a pretty, buxom damsel in distress is also involved. Names, no, don't know them. Descriptions? You mean giant black wings and damsel in distress weren't enough to jog your memory? It's probably best that Sam had nixed the WANTED posters Dean had suggested after all.
Dean's not about to give up, despite the lack of new information they're generating.
His memories have been drifting back to him in bits and pieces. Snatches of conversation, not enough to paint a clear picture, but there is one thing that's clear; he'd fallen in love. Or so he thinks. He’s pretty sure, but there are a few things he’s still sketchy about. Such as the guy’s name. What he does remember is the intense feeling of love that had flooded through him when he’d looked into the deep blue eyes of the dark haired man.
“Are you really sure you want me to tell me to shut up?” Sam asks dryly. “Good luck finding your way around without me.”
"You're just grouchy because Jess isn’t here."
“Whatever,” Sam grumbles dismissively in the way of little brothers everywhere.
Dean rolls his eyes and fights the urge to make a rude gesture in his direction. Normally, he wouldn’t care, but in yet another way that this being blind thing truly bites is that he can’t tell if there’s anyone else around who might have actual information he could use that would get offended and refuse to tell him anything.
“Hey, stop for a minute,” Sam says. “There’s a tavern here. I was thinking we could head in, ask a few more questions and stop for a quick bite to eat while we’re at it.”
“Sure,” Dean says and let Sam guide him through the door. The tavern sounds busy, the murmur of indistinct chatter humming around him.
Dean starts surveying patrons at the bar while Sam flags down the bartender to place their order. He’s moved a few patrons when he hears a soft feminine voice say his name from behind him. “Dean? What the hell are you doing here?” Her voice is soft, her accent unremarkable. He couldn’t say for sure one way or another if he’s heard her voice before or not, much less place where he might have met her. And yet, she knows him.
“I -” he starts, but she doesn’t give him a chance to say more.
“Wait,” she says, placing a hand on his wrist and tugging him forward. “We can’t talk here, follow me.”
He manages a few steps after her, but the tavern is crowded without a clear path wherever it is she’s leading him. When Dean bumps a chair and her hand falls away, she keeps moving on without him.
“Wait-” he says, but she doesn’t seem to notice. He’d call her name but of course he doesn’t remember it even she knew him. By the time Sam reaches his side just moments later, she’s lost in the crowd.
“Dude, what are you doing all the way over here?”
“Did you see that girl? The one who talked to me at the bar?”
“A girl? No, sorry, I didn’t see anyone.”
“She knew me,” Dean says.
“And do you…”
“Remember her? No. Damn. She wanted to talk, but she wouldn’t say anything here.”
“And you think it had something to do with your damsel in distress?”
“What else could it have been?”
“Knowing you? Well-”
“Shut up,” Dean grumbles, “you know neither of us have ever been here before.”
“You never know,” Sam muses. “There are a number of ladies out there who have loved and lost you. And it’s not like you could see her face.”
“Whatever,” Dean says, aiming a light punch in Sam’s direction. “At least we know there’s something here to stick around for. I’m sure we’ll be seeing her again.”
“Or not, in your case,” Sam jokes.
“Not funny, bitch,” Dean grumbles, though he’s not really bothered by Sam’s good natured joking.
“It was hilarious, jerk,” Sam retorts. “Now let’s go eat our lunch.”
-
They stay put in the village but it still takes another three days for the girl to find them again. Or, to be more precise, they find her.
Dean’s pertinence only lasts for a couple days. He’s been remembering a little bit more - a fragment here and a piece there - but the more that comes back to him, the more he feels a sense of urgency. When the third day dawns and there still hasn’t been any sign of the girl who approached him in the tavern their first day there - or anyone else willing or able to give them information either - Dean persuades Sam that’s it’s time to do a little investigating in the surrounding area.
“So what exactly are we looking for here?” Sam asks while they’re saddling their horses.
“I don’t know,” Dean responds. “I guess you’ll just know it when you see it.”
“That’s not very helpful,” Sam says. “Are you sure there’s nothing specific the girl who knew you mentioned?”
“Pretty sure I’d have told you already if you had.”
“No, right. Of course not. That would make my life just too easy. Because a) you stumbled onto something accidently or b) ran into someone who tipped you off. Either way you wouldn’t remember it - even if you could see it.”
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Dean asks. “Didn’t get enough beauty sleep this morning, princess?”
Sam sighs. “You know how you feel about witches and warlocks and magic of any kind? Yeah, that’s how I feel about hunts where we’re wandering around in the woods and the only clue we have to go on is to look for something suspicious.”
Dean gives Sam a pat on the shoulder as he walks by, leading Impala by the reins. “Lighten up, dude. You’d think this was your first hunt or something.”
Sam follows Dean out of the stable, his own horse in tow. “No, but it might as well be yours. I’m just not sure you’re prepared for this.”
“Aww,” Dean says, swinging up into his saddle. “Is that what’s got you in such a mood? You’re worried about me? That’s so sweet.”
“Mock me all you want, but look, I know you think it’s been your job to take care of me since dad died and I’ve let you, but now it’s my job to look out for you since you can’t do it for yourself anymore. I’m just not sure you know what you’re getting your self into here. When I found you before-”
“Yeah, yeah, I was bruised, bloody, and broken, and of course we can’t forget blinded by the thorns.”
“And you still can’t remember why, or much at all, really.” Dean wisely doesn’t point out that this is a great deal more that he remembers but hasn’t shared because it’s not pertinent to the case. Sure, it’s nice to have the memory of the man with the intense blue eyes and the way his mouth fit perfectly against Dean’s, the smile he’d given Dean the first time he’d tangled their fingers together, the little sigh he’d make when Dean would press kisses in a line down his chest, but it’s not to get them anywhere closer to actually finding him.
“I’d just feel a little more comfortable about the whole thing if we knew what we were up against but no one can seem to give us any more information,” Sam continues.
Impala shifts restlessly, ready to get going. Dean gives her a pat on the neck. He can tell from the direction Sam’s voice is coming from that his brother is still standing next to his own mount, both feet on the ground.
“I can’t tell you that what we’re doing isn’t dangerous,” Dean says, “any more or less than any other hunt we’ve ever been on. And it certainly doesn’t help that we have less than nothing to go on. But I have to know. I can’t shake this feeling that there’s someone I have to find, something important that I have to do even if I don’t know exactly what it is. So you can either help me out or you can go home. Either way, I’m staying here, even if I have blunder about on my own.”
Sam huffs out a laugh. “That’s what I figured you’d say.”
Dean shakes his head and grins. “If you knew already, then why’d you have to bring it up?”
“You know me,” Sam answers, finally swinging up into his own saddle, “always gotta do things the hard way.”
“And talk things to death,” Dean adds, wheeling Impala to follow behind the sound of Sam’s hoof beats on the road out of town and into the surrounding wilderness. “Let’s go,” he calls to his brother, nudging Impala into a light gallop, trusting her to follow the well-worn paths and animal trails through the woods until they, hopefully, find something that leads them one step closer to Dean’s mystery man.
-
After hours of fruitless searching, they get lucky just as Dean’s grumbling stomach signals that they’d best stop for lunch. None of the village folk had noticed anything strange occurring, but a resident fur trapper, more attuned to the nuances of the forest had been able to point them in the right direction of something unusual happening nearby.
“It’s the strangest thing,” he’d said, “but I ain’t seen hide nor hair of anything livin, nor a peep out of a single bird for goin’ on half a year now out past the old mill where the river curves towards the mountains. Don’t get many folk out there in the first place - too dangerous, it is - abandoned building and all - but I haven’t had any reason to go there meself.”
When they reach the old, abandoned mill, it’s just as eerily quiet as the trapper had said it would be. Dean can hear the gentle murmur of the river and the soft ruffling of leaves in the breeze, but there’s no birdsongs or the chattering of small animals to be heard.
“I guess this is the place,” Dean says.
“Yeah,” Sam answers. “I guess we’d better check it out.”
They ride aimlessly for half an hour, circling the area - Sam keeping his eyes peeled and Dean listening for any suspicious sounds.
“Huh,” Sam says, eventually, the sound of his horse’s hoof beats stopping.
“What is it?” Dean asks, pulling Impala up short and pausing behind him.
“These people really do like their towers in the middle of nowhere.”
Dean grins. “Told you you’d know it when you saw it.”
They dismounted to investigate. “You see any stairs or anything?” Dean asks.
“No,” Sam says. “No doors either. Just a few windows up at the very top.”
“I’d definitely say we’re in the right place then.”
“Yeah, I think-” Sam begins, but he’s interrupted by a voice hissing out Dean’s name. It sounds like the girl who had taken Dean aside at the tavern a few days earlier.
“What are you idiots doing,” she demands in a low whisper, grabbing hold of Dean’s arm. “Get under cover or she’ll see you and the last thing I want to do is track him down again after you botch things up again.”
She tugs on Dean’s arm, dragging him to his left. He feels the brush of tiny branches against his arms and legs and leaves drag over his hair and face.
“Um, who are you?” Sam asks, his voice inches away from Dean’s ear. The girl must have grabbed hold of him as well. He nudges Dean and says, “I think we found your redhead.”
She ignores Sam and says instead, “Dean! I told you before, you shouldn’t be here. If you hadn’t - what’s wrong with your eyes?”
“I’m blind? Aren’t you the girl from the tavern? I thought you could tell then.”
“No - I… It was dark. I didn’t see. What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Dean says.
“What do you mean?” the girl asks.
“He means that he fell and hit his head. He can’t remember anything that happened with the last tower,” Sam answers.
“So you don’t remember me? That means you don’t remember Castiel either,” she muses distractedly.
Castiel? Dean thinks, rolling the name around on his tongue. It seems familiar, in a vague, inexplicable sense, like a word that’s right on the tip of his tongue but he just can’t remember. It should be - well, he’s not sure what it should be and it’s not enough to jog his memory any further, he just has a distant sense it’s something that he used to know.
“Why don’t we start with your name and we’ll go from there,” Sam prompts.
“Huh?” the girls says, still distracted. “Oh, I’m Anna. I was the one who told you about my brother Castiel. He’s an angel, being held captive by a sorceress.”
“I thought there were no such things as angels,” Sam interjects.
Anna quirks a small smile. “Dean said the same thing.”
“That does explain the wings,” Dean says.
“I thought you said you didn’t remember,” Anna says.
“Bits and pieces,” Dean answers. “Are you sure it was Castiel I found?”
“Of course,” Anna answers.
“It’s just, his name. It just seems off,” Dean says, scratching his head. “Maybe I’m just remembering it wrong.”
“You weren’t around when I found Dean,” Sam mentions. “Were you supposed to meet him there?”
“No,” Anna answers. “We didn’t have much contact-”
There’s a loud noise, something like a crash followed by an unnaturally low growl, and Anna abruptly stops speaking.
“Oh, shit,” she says, “I have to go.”
“Wait,” Sam calls. “There’s still so much more we need to know.”
“I’ll, uh, I’ll see if I can come by your inn later,” she calls back over her shoulder. “I really need to go.”
“What just happened?” Dean asks.
“She just ran off,” Sam answers.
“Because of the noise?”
“Yeah, pretty sure.”
“What was that?”
“Couldn’t tell.”
“Did anything else happen?”
“Nope.”
“Huh,” Dean answers. “So what do we do now?”
“I guess we can have a quick look around, then head back to the inn so we don’t miss her.”
They don’t find much. There’s no way up, just like Sam described from the previous tower, but there’s no other clues around, nothing that they can work with.
“What do you think, head back and have dinner, see if Anna shows up?” Sam asks.
“Sure thing,” Dean answers.
As they swing up into saddles and ride back towards the village, neither of them notice the shadowy figure watching from a window high up in the tower as they disappear into the trees.
-
Sam volunteers to unsaddle and brush down their horses so that Dean can wait in their room in case Anna shows up. Dean hasn’t even been in the room ten minutes before there’s a knock on the door.
“Dean,” a feminine voice says when Dean answers. He can tell immediately that she’s not Anna as her voice is deeper, her accent different.
“Can I help you?” Dean asks.
“My name is Meg,” the woman answers. “Anna couldn’t make it tonight, so she sent me instead.”
“Oh, um. Okay. I guess you’d better come in, then,” Dean says, holding the door open for her.
“Thank you,” Meg answers. Dean can feel the silky brush of her dress as she enters the room. “May I sit?” she asks.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Dean answers. “So how do you know Anna?”
There’s a pause before Meg answers. “We’re old friends,” she eventually answers. “We ran into each other in town today, and she told me she had an engagement today that she simply couldn’t keep and asked me to come instead. I believe you had some questions you needed answered due to a pesky little memory loss problem.”
“Yeah,” Dean says.
“And I see that someone has damaged your lovely eyes.” Dean hears the swish of Meg’s skirts as she stands and approaches him. “Do you mind if I take a look?”
“Um, sure,” Dean says as Meg brings her hand up to rest her fingertips on his chin and tip his head to the side so she can get a better look at his face. Dean’s not at all used to this and he isn’t sure what to say.
“That is some extensive scarring,” she remarks. “What a shame that such a gruesome thing happened to your beautiful green eyes.”
“Um, what? Did you meet-” Dean starts to ask, but Meg cuts him off, her grip on his chin tightening so that her nails dig deep into his skin.
“Do I know who you are? Oh, yes, Dean, I know you. You’re the one who tried to steal my precious pet right out from under my nose. But that’s not going to happen again. I stopped you once, and I’m going to do it again.”
Dean tries to back away, but he can’t more. Not only is Meg’s grip preternatural strong, but Dean’s muscles feel frozen and stiff and they won’t respond to his commands. He figures she must be using some sort of magic on him. Fucking witches.
“Get the hell away from him,” Sam snaps and Dean breathes a sigh of relief as Meg is shoved forcibly away from him. Her nails gouge scratches into his chin, but he’s just glad he’s not going to end up dead.
As the magic holding him up relaxes, Dean sags backwards, striking his head against the edge of a table as he falls that his ears ring.
“This isn’t over,” Meg hisses.
“Dean, Dean. Are you okay?” Sam asks, close to Dean’s ear. Dean’s head feels strangely clear after such a hard impact. Sam helps him up to his feet, where Dean brings a shaky hand up to his forehead.
“What happened?” Dean asks as Sam leads him over to sit on the foot of the bed.
“She’s gone, don’t worry. Does your head hurt? Do you think you have a concussion?”
“No, I…” Dean abruptly drops his hand. “I remember.”
“You - what?”
“Those missing weeks, right before I fell. Sam, I remember them. I remember him.”
-
…He meets the girl after he wraps up his hunt, just before he’s about to head back home. She's pretty, with long red hair and wide blue eyes. He gives her his best smile on her, trying to charm her, but she's all business.
"You're a hunter, aren't you?" she asks.
“I am. And who might you be?” Dean asks.
“My name is Anna. I need the assistance of a hunter.”
“Are you by chance a damsel in distress?”
“I can take care of myself,” she answers. “It's my brother who needs your help.”
-
He doesn’t believe her, not at first. “Angels?” he repeats dubiously. As far as he knows - or any other hunter he’s ever met - angels don’t exist. And she’s not exactly willing to offer up the evidence that they do.
“You’ll just have to take my word for now,” she says. “When you see my brother, there won’t be a single doubt in your mind what he is.”
“Sure,” Dean says, though he’s anything but. “So, if you’re an angel, why can’t you just… I don’t know, swoop in and rescue him yourself or something.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“No?”
“You’re going to have to gain his trust. And he can’t know that I’ve sent you. He’s forbidden me from trying to help him more than once. If he knew I’d sent you, he’d never listen.”
“And I’m supposed to say what, exactly? He’s gonna want to know why I’m there, and from what you’ve told me so far a casual stroll just isn’t going to cut it.”
She gives him a coy look. “You strike me as quite the charmer. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
-
He finds the tower in the forest, silhouetted against grey early morning light, barely dwarfed by the surrounding trees, just like she'd said it would be. He can see a single un-paned window far up at the top. One thing Anna hadn’t mentioned was the best way to get up, or any way rather. It is not like he can just walk right on up. For one thing, there's no door and certainly no stairs. He’ll have to climb, but the façade seems to be make of loose stone that crumbles under his fingers when he touches it.
“Figures,” he mumbles under his breath, what with the angel nonsense and all. Anna’d probably just sprout wings and fly right up… or she would if he actually believed the angel thing, which he absolutely does not.
He solves the problem by jabbing arrows into the firmer brick beneath the façade and climbs up that way.
When he is nearly at the top, a few mere feet from the window, Dean falters and slices his hand on a jagged rock. “Fuck,” he swears. His hand, slick with blood, slips against the stone and he can’t find purchase. He shuts his eyes tight so that he doesn’t look down. He’s never been good with heights. Below him, he knows, is a bramble of briars with dangerously sharp thorns.
“Here, let me help you,” says a deep, rusty voice from above him.
He opens his eyes and meets the gaze of a dark haired man, his eyes as blue as the sky. “Give me your hand,” the man says.
Dean doesn’t answer, just does as he’s asked. The other man hauls him up and over the lip of the window, where Dean falls to his knees.
“Whoa,” he says, breathing heavily. “That was a close one.”
“It’s a dangerous climb,” the man says. He’s still standing mere inches away from where Dean is hunched, where all Dean can see of him are the toes of his boots. “That is why most people don’t attempt it.”
“And yet, here you are.” Dean gets to his feet, brushes the dirt from his knees and gets his first good look at the man. “You are definitely not what I expected,” Dean says, watching broad black wings rise up to block out the light from the rising sun. “What are you anyway?”
“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen quite a few unbelievable things in my time.”
The man gives him an illusive smile and doesn’t speak.
Dean sighs. “Okay, I get it. How about your name. Can you tell me that?”
“It’s Castiel.”
“Castiel? That sounds so stuffy. You got a nickname?”
The man - Castiel - shakes his head.
“Then I’m going to call you Cas, if you don’t mind.” He reaches out a hand. “I’m Dean.” Cas uncertainly presses his own palm, soft and warm, against Dean’s and shakes it once, brusquely.
“So,” Dean prompts, “what are you doing up here anyway?”
“I could ask the same of you,” Cas says, wryly.
“I asked first,” Dean says.
“It’s my tower,” Cas counters.
“I… uh, heard there was a treasure here?” Dean supposes he would sound more convincing if his explanation sounded more like a statement and less like a question. Cas’ expression doesn’t change, so he figures he’s in the clear. “You don’t exactly make it easy to get up here, so I figured it might be pretty valuable.”
“There’s no treasure.”
“Then why are you up here if you aren’t guarding something? You just like hiding out in dark, unreachable towers?
“You never stopped to consider that some people might just like their privacy?”
Dean glances around. The tower is fairly unpleasant, dark and cramped, though surprisingly clean. “And is that why you’re up here? Because it doesn’t seem like a great place to spend all your time to me. I think you should get out some and see the sun.”
He’s silent for a long moment. Dean thinks he might give the same answer as his sister and say only that it’s complicated, but instead he answers, somewhat wistfully, with his eyes on the sky outside the window, “It would be nice to see more of the world.”
“Why don’t you, then. I could help you out if you wanted. Show you around.”
Cas shakes his head, looking away from the window. “I couldn’t.”
Dean nods his head. “I get it. You’ve been here so long, you don’t want to leave. Tell you what, why don’t I come by every day until you feel comfortable enough to leave.”
Cas studies him for a long moment, his clear blue eyes staring intently into Dean’s own, expression inscrutable. Dean stares back just as intently, keeping his own expression clear and honest.
“Alright,” Cas says finally, giving Dean a decisive nod. “You may come tomorrow and then we’ll see.”
“Great.” Dean grins. “You won’t regret it.”
-
Dean keeps coming back. Each day, it’s less and less about Anna with her pretty smile and lovely face and the request she’d made of him and more and more about Cas and how much Dean wants to see him and learn as much as he can about him. Everything about him fascinates Dean - from the ordinary, like the deep, deep voice, to his extraordinary wings.
He seems equally enchanted with Dean, letting him come back day after day.
On the second day, rather than struggle climbing up and then scaling back down again using arrows as handholds, he brings a rope that Cas lets down every morning when Dean arrives and coils back up again every night after he leaves.
That same morning on the second day that he shows up, his hand bandaged but still sore from the wound it had received when he’d been climbing up the day before, Cas notices that the hand is bothering Dean.
“Let me see your hand,” he asks, holding out his own. He carefully unwraps the bandage and, with a pass of his palm over Dean’s own, the wound is gone.
“How did you-” Dean begins, but given how cagy Cas had been the previous day to say anything about what he was or what he was doing there, he cuts the question off, knowing Cas won’t answer it. “Neat trick,” he says instead.
Every day, before he leaves, Dean asks Cas if he’s ready to leave his dark and depressing little tower, but every day Cas turns him down.
“You may come back tomorrow and try to convince me,” he always adds and Dean always does, until a week and a half later when their routine changes.
Instead of telling Dean to come back tomorrow, Cas tells him to come back the following day.
“Why not tomorrow?” Dean asks.
Cas, expression as inscrutable as ever when Dean asks a questions he won’t answer, simply says, “Don’t show up tomorrow. I won’t let down the rope if you do.”
Dean comes anyway, although he doesn’t call up to Cas to let him know that he’s there. Instead, he hides in one of the thorny briar patches that grows all around the tower and waits.
He doesn’t have to wait long. Less than a hour after he arrives, a dark-haired woman in an elaborately trimmed silk dress rides up on the back of a huge black dog - bigger than any horse - with two heads. A hellhound, Dean thinks. He’s heard of them before. The woman must be in control of an enormous amount of magical energy for the thing to let her anywhere near it, much less ride it. The dark magic of a powerful sorceress. Dean gets a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that Cas would have anything to do with dark magic.
She stops in front of the tower and Dean catches of glimpse of a brilliantly glowing pendant around her neck that swings in the air as she dismounts. Once both her feet are on the ground, she turns back to the beast she rode in on and gives it a brief kiss on each of it’s drooling, vicious heads before making the creature disappear with a snap of her fingers. With the hellhound safely sent away, she turns back to the tower and chants a spell, the words of which Dean can barely catch but doesn’t understand. The air shimmers around her, and she lifts her foot and beings to climb as one would a staircase. Dean gapes. She is climbing stairs - just ones made of pure air.
The sorceress reaches the uppermost window - the same one Dean has been climbing his way through for the past week and the half - and ducks in herself. The forest is eerily quiet while she is there, not a single chirp from a bird or the sounds of any other small animals. Dean has no idea what she’s doing, other than it can’t be good.
She’s there for nearly two hours. When she appears again, walking back down the stairs made of air that would have given Dean vertigo to use, she’s carrying a flask filled with an unnaturally bright red liquid. When she reaches the base of the tower, she tucks the flask into her skirts and casts another spell to dismiss the stairs and then to summon the hellhound.
Dean stays hidden, long after she’s gone and the normal sounds of the forest resume, trying to process what this means. Anna had intimated that there was some kind rescue Cas needed, but hadn’t said what. Dean hopes it’s this, but he’s never seen any indication that Cas is being physically restrained. But then again, with a sorceress powerful enough to harness a hellhound, she’d probably use magic that Dean couldn’t see and couldn’t sense.
Eventually, Dean untangles himself from the briar and makes his way to the base of the tower. “Cas!” he shouts upward, “CASTIEL, I know you’re up there. Let down the rope or I’ll find my own way up again. We have to talk.”
There’s a long pause where Dean wonders if he have to yell some more because he’s sure as hell not going away but then the rope falls and Dean quickly scales it.
“I take it you saw Meg,” Cas says once Dean’s ducked safely inside the window.
“That sorceress with the hellhound? Yeah, I saw her. Cas, what the hell are you doing with a sorceress?”
“It’s complicated.”
“So explain it to me.” When Cas doesn’t say anything, Dean sighs and says, “Look, I didn’t just stumble upon your tower and climb it looking for treasure. I’m not that kind of hunter.”
Dean figures Cas will angry that he’d shown up under false pretenses and lied to him. What he doesn’t expect is the calm nod he gets and for Cas to say. “Anna sent you.”
“Wait, you knew? And you’re not mad?”
Cas shrugs and answers simply, “I enjoyed your company.”
“I - uh. I did too. Yours, I mean.” Dean shakes his head. “Anyway the point I was trying to make is: this isn’t the first time I’ve gone up against a sorceress. I can help you.”
“I do appreciate your concern, but you don’t understand.”
“So explain it to me,” Dean say, perhaps a bit too loudly, getting frustrated with Cas’ calm attitude about the whole thing. “Or do is she keeping you here against your will?”
Cas’ expression finally turns stormy and he takes a menacing step forward, his wings flaring out behind him to their full length and taking up what little space is available in the tower. Dean meets his gaze and doesn’t back down, grimly pleased to finally get a rise out of the unflappable angel.
“Of course I’m not,” Cas says, almost in a growl, his voice deeper than ever. His wings twitch angrily behind him. “I’m an angel and she has my grace. Without it, I am at her bidding.”
“Your grace?” Dean asks.
“It’s like my soul. She wears it on a glowing pendant around her neck. She uses it to make her spells and potions more potent.”
“If she has your grace, why does she keep you here?”
“My grace is a part of me. She ripped it from me and I can exist without it, but were she to kill me, my grace would be destroyed as well.”
“And she comes here, what, to gloat about it?”
“No, my grace is more potent the closer it is to me. She needs to be in close proximity in order to access it for her most powerful spells.”
Dean places a hand on Cas’ shoulder. Cas tenses under his touch. “I’m sorry I accused you of being on her side. I know you’d never do that.”
“I - thank you, Dean,” Cas answers, his wings visibly drooping. As he relaxes and leans into Dean’s touch, the mood between then changes drastically. The atmosphere is still crackling with the tension between them, but now it’s tension of an entirely different kind.
Dean is man enough to admit that he found Cas attractive from the moment they met, but as the days have passed and he’s gotten to know him, it’s developed into something more than just attraction. He thinks he’s started to fall in love with him. From the way that Cas intently meeting his gaze and the fact he’s not backing away now, still standing mere inches away from Dean in a position that had started out as hostile but isn’t anymore, Dean’s willing to bet that Cas might just feel the same way. It makes him brave enough to move his hand from Cas’ shoulder to rest it on his cheek.
“Is this okay?” he asks, leaning in.
“Yes,” Cas replies, voice deeper than ever, almost the way it had sounded when he was angry but this time with an entirely different tone, and leans in to meet the kiss halfway.
There’s still more than Dean wants to say, to convince Cas he can help, but they don’t get much talking done that night.
-
Dean wakes the following morning as fingers trail down his neck, the stroke as light as a feather's touch. He gasps and leans into the touch, smiles as he rolls over to face Cas. “Mmm…” he says. “What a great way to wake up in the morning.”
Cas gives him a smile, small but tender, and answers, “Yes.”
Dean leans up to kiss Cas breathless, running his hands through Cas’ already extremely disheveled hair. When Cas is suitably mellow, but before the kiss can devolve into a repeat of the night before, Dean breaks away. Cas, it seems, has other plans, following Dean’s mouth with his own until Dean has to bring a hand up to his chest to physically hold him back.
“I wanted to talk to you before we get all distracted again,” Dean says.
Cas frowns. “Should I be worried?” he asks, looking slightly nervous despite his joking tone.
Dean grins up at him. “No, no. You should definitely not be worried. Lat night was just - wow. It is going to happen again, as soon as possible. This is just a little more important at the moment.”
“Good,” Cas says, “I want that too. Now, hurry up and get to your point so we can move on to the part of this conversation that is mutually enjoyable.” He punctuates his words with a long stroke of his hand along the outside of Dean’s thigh. Dean shivers but pushes Cas’ hand away.
“Look, I told you last night that I’m a hunter, right? And I’ve dealt with my fair share of witches and sorcerers.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Cas says, suddenly serious, “but Meg isn’t in the same class as your average witch. She’s much too powerful for you to face by yourself.”
“That’s just it,” Dean answers. “My whole family have always been hunters. My brother and I usually go on hunts together. With his help, Meg would be no match for us.”
“I doubt you could vanquish her, even with your brother’s help,” Cas answers.
“But we wouldn’t have to. All we need to do is get you your grace back and we’re home free.”
“We’d have to catch her off guard,” Cas muses. “With no hellhounds at her disposal. That would be the only way you’d have a chance, but it’s still very risky.”
“Hey,” Dean says, drawing Cas’ mouth down for a quick kiss. “If there’s any chance at all, I’m gonna take it, no matter what you say. Being trapped up here, it’s no life. You should be able to do what you want, and if that happens to be with me, great, but if not, you still deserve to be set free.”
Cas smiles at him. “I’d like to be wherever you are,” he says, which Dean thinks is the closest to a declaration of love and their intentions that they’re ever going to get.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll write to Sam tomorrow and he should be here in a week or two. I’m going to get you out of here,” he promises…
-
“Then I wrote to you, and we waited,” Dean explains to Sam, scrubbing a hand over his sightless eyes, back in the present. “Or at least, we tried to wait for you. Meg had sent word to Cas that she would be showing up in two days and Cas warned me about it. We weren’t going to do anything that day, since you weren’t there yet, but somehow, Meg must have found out about our plans because she showed up a day early. My memory of that day is still pretty hazy, probably from that bump on the head, but I know there was a struggle, and Meg shoved me out of the window where I must have fallen into the thorns growing around the tower. The next thing I remember, I was with you and Jess.”
“Well, one things for sure, Meg must have been threatened enough by you to move Cas to another location.”
“Yeah, but she’s not taken any chances. The unnatural silence in the woods today - that’s the same thing that happened when she rode up on the hellhound. The woods must be crawling with them now, trying to keep anyone from finding her precious angel.”
“You think that’s what scared Anna off?” Sam asks.
“Possibly. We’re lucky we didn’t run into one ourselves.”
“Maybe. Something tipped Meg off that we were there today, or she wouldn’t have shown up here tonight.”
“Do you think she went right back to the tower?” Dean asks, think of Cas.
“Dean, no. Just no. You are running off to find this guy, not tonight when we’re completely unprepared. You’re plan before was to catch her off-guard, but that obviously failed.”
Dean nods. Rationally, he understands what Sam is saying. Of course it’s completely unreasonable to go running off towards the bad guy with no plan whatsoever, but his heart aches to find Cas again. He’d been just a shadowy figure in his memories for so long, but now, with his memories restored, the need to find him, to make sure he’s alright has turned from a dull sense to an urgent, gut wrenching need.
As Dean is thinking of the best way to articulate this, there’s a knock on the door. Dean tenses, knows that Sam has instinctively gone for the knife in his boot. Dean carried one in his own boot, but without his sight, there’s much less he can do with it and he lets Sam take the lead. However, when he hears Anna call through the door, “Dean? It’s Anna. I just saw Meg. Are you alright?”
Sam lets her in and explains what happened, that Meg attacked Dean but Sam saved him at the last minute, and that a resulting bump on the head had given Dean most of his memories back. Anna listens quietly, asking an occasional question. Once Sam is done, she sighs and says, “This could be the perfect timing to go after her.”
Dean immediately perks up since getting rid of Meg means finding Cas. Sam, of course, is much more hesitant. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea? She almost killed Dean today.”
“Exactly. That’s why she won’t be expecting us tonight.”
“She might not be expecting us, but she’s still extremely well protected with those hellhounds she’s got crawling all over the forest.”
“That’s the second reason the timing is so good,” Anna explains and Dean hears the sound of a long dagger being pulled from its sheath. “I couldn’t make it here any earlier today because I was in the process of obtaining this. When the blade was made, the iron was tempered with a poison that’s lethal to hellhounds. It won’t be easy, but this is the only way we can kill them.”
“Great,” Dean says, standing up, “then let’s go.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sam asks, still next to Dean’s side.
“Fine,” Dean answers. He lowers his voice and adds. “Sam. I have to find him. As soon as possible.”
Sam finally sighs and agrees. “Alright. Just try to be careful, okay?”
PART 2